


The Inside Man and the Outside Man

by Princess of Geeks (Princess)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: AU, First Time, M/M, Romance, Songfic, american west, past Jack/Samantha and Daniel/Teal'c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-15
Updated: 2010-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:37:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess/pseuds/Princess%20of%20Geeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Allman Brothers performed a rollicking song about Louisiana Lou and Three-Card-Monte John, who are gamblers, and I simply could not resist. Please don't let that deter you; I think it's a good story. Very fun. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Natural Pair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Catspaw](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Catspaw).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first meeting of Louisiana Lou and Three-Card-Monte John, in turn-of-the-20th-century Los Angeles. Thanks to randomfreshink, for essential research on geography and the period.

Los Angeles, circa 1900

_Louisiana Lou, Three-Card Monte John  
Oh, lord, what a natural pair  
Looking for a game, fortune and fame  
Waiting just a little farther down the road somewhere_

\--The Allman Brothers

~~~~

Daniel bent over the table, his forearm swinging smoothly as he made his shot, and the cueball spun away, skimming a breathtakingly close trajectory through the bunched impediment of candy-colored balls, kissing the far cushion, and then, finally, touching the four, easing it into the pocket, and rolling to a stop, leaving him an easy line to the five.

Straight pool was still his favorite: The relentless necessity of the climb through the numbers, the exactitude of many and complicated required banks, so satisfying in their strictness, like a sonnet is satisfying. He mused, as he added more chalk to the tip of his cue and strolled around the table, calculating the new angles to the six and ignoring the whispers of approval and chagrin from the assembled audience, that it must have been his long experience with English billiards that had given him his edge in this game. Something else he had William to thank for, he mused, lingering a moment on a happy memory of the days of his apprenticeship, before returning his attention to his current problem. Straight pool was popular on the West Coast, few men could match his skill anywhere, and now that he'd spent a couple of enjoyable hours taking the measure of this house, it was time to earn his keep for the next month.

His opponent -- Daniel had already forgotten his name -- stood motionless, waiting with an impassive face, as Daniel planned.

The five would fall easily now. But managing his setup for the six -- that would take some thought. Daniel set the cube of chalk on its shelf behind him, still pondering, as a slight disturbance at the back of the crowd caught his eye. A newcomer was shouldering through, politely but inexorably making his way to the front to hover beside Major Davis, who was overseeing the game and making sure, Daniel thought, with an internal curl of his lip, that the betting was not so obtrusive as to call an undue amount of attention to itself.

The newcomer was tall and brown haired, unfashionable bangs brushing his thick eyebrows, and his eyes were brown, too, and he gazed quite boldly at Daniel as he leaned in to Davis. Davis listened impassively, lacking either the surprise or the attentive charm that would have signaled the newcomer was a stranger to him, and Daniel found himself meeting a mischievous gaze as the man, still whispering to the major, pulled something from his embroidered vest, palmed it, and slipped it straight into Davis' pants pocket. Davis didn't flinch away or look affronted at the too-personal touch, which reinforced Daniel's impression that it, therefore, was familiar. Daniel had to restrain his eyebrows from going up. He pretended to study his table, but he was now intrigued. The stranger had a handsome face, and a proud yet relaxed demeanor. His carriage compelled attention, even in a crowd as handsome and well-to-do as this.

Daniel glanced at him again, finding the man still a step away from Davis, cigar smoke curling around his head, his eyes glittering in the gaslights, and Daniel found himself still the target of that dark gaze. He was suddenly sure that the man knew Daniel had been watching him, and as the man smiled and turned away, his black velvet coat -- also unfashionable, but perfectly cut and fit -- falling back into place around his hips, he winked at Daniel. Daniel, not entirely displeased to be caught staring, cocked his head in puzzled acknowledgement.

He watched the broad shoulders retreat for one breath, and then, with an effort of concentration, turned back to his game. As he made his successful shot at the five and then edged down the table to square up for the six, there remained that tingling sense of being watched. When he straightened, as the balls ticked and spun, his eyes searched the crowd, and there was that tousled head, those same dark eyes, now retreated to the third row of spectators. Their eyes locked again. Daniel bit his lip.

He glanced at the table. The six, as predicted, was falling, after a complicated set of banks, but he had been unable to leave himself a clear shot for the seven, which now gave his opponent an opportunity that Daniel, after two hours in Miss Samantha Carter's famous establishment spent observing the assembled competition, was certain he would fail to exploit. And so Daniel left the balls on the table to rearrange themselves under the attentions of his antagonist.

Daniel retreated, to stand near his chalk and taste his waiting wine, seeking again through the crowd under cover of raising his glass to his lips. And once again, those dark eyes frankly met his own, and a sparkle of interest, of electricity, crackled between them.

His opponent failed his shot; it was Daniel's turn again.

This time the angles arranged themselves to his liking one after the other, and when he finally looked up again, the game over, his opponent dispatched, the man in the velvet coat was gone.

Daniel, gracious in victory, shook hands, muttering polite self-deprecations, and lingered at the corner of the table to wait for Davis. This was a cash-only house. The public reputation of the place held it was a venue for stage magic and musical entertainment, which diversions would begin at midnight in the center hall, but the billiards tables and the discreet card tables in the back rooms, available only to those recognized by the management or to their vetted guests, were the more profitable reason The Queen of Hearts Theater existed. The major, dapper as ever in his dark blue suit, approached Daniel and quietly handed him a cream-colored envelope containing his winnings from the round of straight pool just concluded. Some establishments with which Daniel was familiar waited until night's end to settle with the players, but in Los Angeles, because the games existed at the whim of well-bribed police commissioners, it was considered prudent to settle up after each round in case of a sudden ... interruption.

To Daniel's experienced touch, the envelope was fatter than it should have been. He had not previously played at The Queen of Hearts, but had inquired ahead of time among his fellow players what his winnings were likely to be. Unless the bills were smaller denominations than usual, he'd made significantly more than expected.

He raised his eyebrows at Davis, and was immediately understood. Davis glanced at Daniel's long fingers squeezing his packet, and said quietly, as Daniel slid the envelope into his vest pocket, "It was Mr. O'Neill, sir. His last-minute participation significantly increased the size of the pool."

"The man in the velvet jacket," Daniel confirmed.

"That's right, although--" and here Davis' expression changed almost imperceptibly to smug amusement "--you may know him better as Three-Card Monte John," and then, conveying the impression of a bow with only the dip of his chin, the major moved away to dispense more of his genteel little envelopes.

Daniel, intrigued, nevertheless had to turn his attention to the matter at hand instead of the matter of this bold and well-heeled gambler with the velvet coat and the velvet eyes.

The matter at hand was the imminent and much shorter tournament of English billiards. Players were fewer for this game here than in New Orleans, which merely meant that Daniel spent a briefer time defeating them.

Another thick envelope from Davis, and Daniel left the quiet buzz of congratulations and speculation in a swirl of cigar smoke and moved out of the billiards saloon. He left his cue satchel with the coat-room attendant, and crossed the main hall, scattered with just a few customers enjoying mid-evening snacks at the damasked tables, waiting below the still-quiet stage, its heavy red satin curtain reserving whatever mysteries their hostess would present for the midnight hour. Daniel crossed the hall to the card rooms on the far side. The doorman there bowed and let him in, and as the heavy door closed behind him, Daniel paused and tugged on his vest and let his gaze drift over the room.

Warm pools of light spilled straight down over round dark-green tables, cigar smoke curling here, too, and the scattered lights leaving the corners of the room shadowed, making strange the dark looping patterns on the muted red wallpaper. Different games, and thus different sounds -- not the insistent click of balls striking, with barely a murmur of conversation, the distinct notes given by the players tersely calling their shots. Here there were actual conversations, their combined music a soft comfortable rumble filling this smaller room, as the players placed their bets and asked for their cards. There had been a few women among the spectators in the billiards parlor; mostly ladies of the evening in search of employment or professional escorts already working, assigned to a partner in advance of the evening. In here, there were no women at all.

Daniel lurked near the door and searched each table, driven to find those dark eyes again. Despite Davis' assumption that Daniel would recognize what was apparently a well-known gambler's moniker, Three-Card Monte John was a new personality to Daniel. One with whom he found himself earnestly wishing to become more familiar. Daniel found a familiar face here and there, and when he at last spied the broad shoulders and the shining dark head, he quietly moved around the room's perimeter to observe the newcomer's table.

The man's nickname as given by Davis indicated a card mechanic; even a card sharp. But names, as Daniel had proven by his own life, could be deceiving.

By chance, the player to O'Neill's right was quietly stowing his winnings and excusing himself as O'Neill prepared to deal a new hand. The other players were speaking their farewells as Daniel, smiling to himself at his luck, moved to the empty chair.

"Gentlemen? May I?" he said.

"Come to share your recent winnings with us? Very munificent of you," O'Neill said, shuffling. The other players murmured assent and greeting. "I didn't know Louisiana Lou played poker," O'Neill continued, with a glance around the table. His lip curled in a half-smile that again hinted at something Daniel could only label as mischief. Daniel was somehow unsurprised that O'Neill knew his name.

"I have been known to dabble in the game. When the competition is interesting," Daniel said, meeting O'Neill's eyes directly. The man's smile faded as their gazes locked, and Daniel, gratified, felt the intensification of the sparkle and rush he'd felt from across his pool table a couple of hours before.

"We'll try our best to make sure the game meets your standards of excitement, then," O'Neill said, and turned to the table as Daniel seated himself. "Five-card draw once again, gentlemen," he announced, and there was a rustle and a scrape as chairs were pulled in and ante's prepared.

"Is the cut not customary in your game?" Daniel observed, and O'Neill stopped himself in mid-gesture from pulling the first card. He glanced at Daniel and hesitated for a split second.

"Of course, upon request," O'Neill said, and set the perfectly squared deck between them in the appropriate spot. Daniel picked it up, holding O'Neill's gaze -- the intense shimmer between them intensifying even more at this close distance, Daniel's awareness growing of the space filled by O'Neill's body, of the outline of his shoulders and his arm, the almost visible reciprocal awareness he obviously felt for Daniel. These attractions were not so common as to be ignorable, and Daniel certainly could not ignore this one. The interest and attraction, emanating in almost-tangible waves from other man, amounted to an intense regard that conveyed invitation, and promised pleasure. It flowed strongly enough to taste.

As soon as Daniel picked up the deck, gaze never leaving O'Neill's face, his warmed and delicate touch (his hands being conditioned and well-exercised from his recent games) received a shocking piece of information. In the blink of an eye, alerted by O'Neill's split-second hesitation and hyperaware because of his attraction to the man, keyed-up senses taking in every detail of his surroundings, Daniel's fingers told him the deck was cold.

After even one hand of draw poker, with its frequent deals and toss-in's, a deck should be warm, the temperature of a body. But the deck he was holding was unhandled. It was identical in appearance to the deck O'Neill had swept up as Daniel's predecessor left the table, yet it was a new deck. An illegally substituted deck. A stacked deck.

And Daniel had less than half a split second, now, to decide what to do about what he had just learned. O'Neill's expression did not change, conveying no fear, nor warning, nor anything other than a feisty interest in Daniel and a polite anticipation of the cut.

As was his choice, Daniel put the deck down just as he'd received it, and slid it back. O'Neill picked it up immediately and turned away, showing no surprise or hesitation, and dealt with never a bobble. "Jokers and deuces, gentlemen. And, ante's up, if you please."

His long-fingered hands, with a pronounced bend to the thumb, danced over and among the cards, dealing quickly and firmly and elegantly. The hands of an expert. The hands -- and Daniel was suddenly sure of his guess, remembering Davis' familiarity and the place in which they played -- of a magician.

Mesmerized by O'Neill's hands, Daniel slid a greenback from the envelope in his pocket to add to the ante in the center of the table. Watching O'Neill finish the deal and set the deck aside, Daniel swept up his cards by touch alone. When he glanced at them, he registered impassively that he'd received an unplayable hand. He folded as soon as it was his turn, and observed with interest, as he knew with certainty that the deck was stacked, how the game proceeded without him: Two more players folded after the draw, leaving in the game O'Neill, and a glowering heavyset businessman to his left.

After an expensive runup, O'Neill's joker-assisted four kings beat the businessman's full house, the tossed cards were swept in, the winnings collected, and the deal passed to the left. Daniel exhaled, and folded his hands in front of him.

This time, by the Goddess Fortuna's apparently unassisted hand, Daniel was once again dealt nothing but losers, and he again watched the play, content to soak in the aura of the man at his left, who this time bluffed his way to winning a much smaller pot.

After that hand the businessman tossed in his cards with a grunt of disgust and said, "Perhaps the interval watching Miss Carter's performance is what I need to change my luck," and then he bowed to the table and excused himself.

The others checked their watches and exited as well, leaving Daniel and O'Neill in their seats.

"My apologies for dealing you such boring cards," O'Neill said, with a curl of his lip, and Daniel was then certain that O'Neill knew Daniel had spotted his cold deck during the first hand. Daniel narrowed his eyes.

"Are you for the magic show, then?" Daniel said.

"I've seen it," O'Neill said, dismissively but not unkindly, and Daniel could see he was looking at Daniel's mouth. "I seem to be in the grip of a different sort of glamour entirely," O'Neill continued softly, letting his gaze travel back up to meet Daniel's eyes, and sending a bolt of heat up Daniel's spine.

Daniel licked his lips and got up, and O'Neill did too, and O'Neill backed up one step before he turned, holding Daniel's gaze until the last possible moment. He walked away. Daniel knew a signal to follow when he saw one. O'Neill sauntered purposefully all the way to the back of the smoky room, to the door of the gentleman's lounge, with Daniel in his wake. The two of them were against the tide, as most of the card players were leaving their tables to join the audience for the midnight magic show.

Daniel, thrilled with the certainty of what O'Neill was wordlessly inviting, was marveling at the man's audacity both at cards and at this, while equally marveling at his own clear and willing intent to do something so risky. The door of the lounge closed behind them, the white-tiled brightness an abrupt contrast to the shadowed room without.

O'Neill stepped to a basin and began to wash his hands, a probable stall for time. Daniel, though he did not feel a pressing necessity, stepped to the corner stall and relieved himself, and when he turned back to once again meet O'Neill's smoldering gaze, the only other occupant of the room besides the two of them had left.

"This is an invitation to sin, you know," O'Neill said conversationally, tossing Daniel the linen towel he'd just used. Daniel wiped his hands, nodding. Then O'Neill turned on his heel to hold Daniel's gaze as he backed up, and behind him, Daniel suddenly noticed, was a second door. Under O'Neill's hand it revealed itself as the door to a roomy storage closet, stocked with piles of snowy towels and neat stacks of paper-wrapped perfumed soap bars. Daniel, swallowing hard, entered, and he had just time enough to notice the high ceiling, and the mops and buckets standing in the corner, before the door snicked closed, the darkness came down like a cloak, and he felt O'Neill, a warm invisible presence, behind him. O'Neill pressed himself to Daniel's back, and his hands ran down the fronts of Daniel's coat, making Daniel pull in his breath sharply. Pressed against his buttocks he could now feel O'Neill's interest through the thin fabric of his trousers, and feel his warm sweet breath on Daniel's neck.

"I accept your invitation," Daniel husked, placing his hands over O'Neill's; not to stop, not to guide, but to follow with intense interest their progress downward to his belt and his fly. O'Neill opened Daniel's trousers, his mouth a warm smear on Daniel's nape, and Daniel's pulse raced and his face grew hot as O'Neill turned him, and gripped his hips, and knelt, and found Daniel's erection with his mouth.

Daniel groped out in the dark and connected with a shelf, and perforce gripped O'Neill's shoulder with the other hand. O'Neill was hasty but expert, swallowing Daniel's member eagerly and quickly, sucking and licking and pushing Daniel toward climax faster than Daniel wanted to go.

God! Warmth, and wet, and the luscious muscular softness of the inside of a man's mouth....

This act was rare, a forbidden treat, something to be savored, to be enjoyed, not rushed, but Daniel, through a haze of red, supposed he could see the logic in rushing here.

And yet....

"You're acting ... as if you think this opportunity ... will never come your way again," Daniel managed to blurt, keeping his voice down with an effort. He licked his lips, swaying against O'Neill's grip on his hips, and continued in a harsh whisper, "I want you to know ... I would welcome meeting you elsewhere, ... or leaving now and taking you--to my hotel."

The distraction of physical ecstasy made it hard to speak, and the only reason he was able to add the second sentence was because O'Neill paused, letting his tongue rest gently on the underside of the head of Daniel's cock, stilling his eager movements to listen.

O'Neill didn't answer directly, perhaps unwilling to empty his mouth, but he took Daniel's hint and slowed down. He adjusted his grip on Daniel's hips, and was soon guiding him into a pattern of easy, deep thrusts that all too soon had the sweat pooling at the small of Daniel's back and under his arms, had Daniel biting his lip, gripping his support hard, and letting go of O'Neill's shoulder to grip his own, lest he leave bruises under the velvet.

Daniel moaned, low and urgent, feeling an answering vibration in O'Neill's throat. He couldn't hold it back any longer. Groaning, he released his climax. O'Neill swallowed it all.

Daniel hung there, barely on his feet, keeping his balance by the sheer exertion of will, dizzy, his knees weak, his head hanging, and O'Neill gently, exquisitely, took his mouth away, and stood up before him, breathing hard. Deft and careful hands did up Daniel's fly, fastened his belt. And then O'Neill turned, receding through the dark. It seemed cold without him, even in the close confines of the tiny room.

Daniel heard the click of the doorknob turning. Muzzy and barely in command of his faculties, he stumbled forward and managed to put a hand on O'Neill's shoulder. He whispered, "Wait.... Don't go; I haven't had my turn yet."

O'Neill didn't turn back, but he stood still. A tiny line of light around the door showed Daniel his frowning profile. His voice was calm, and barely clogged. "You offered your hotel, later."

"The offer stands," Daniel husked, tightening his hand on velvet.

O'Neill turned to him, then, and took Daniel's head in both his hands, and put his mouth to Daniel's, swift and certain and hot.

"Count to one hundred before you follow me," he breathed, the surprising kiss over before it had fairly begun, and the storeroom door opened and closed and he was gone.

Daniel, leaning against his shelf of soap, his eyes closed, had reached sixty, and his breathing was back to normal, when he heard O'Neill murmur, "Lou." It was odd, after what they'd just done, to hear his pseudonym and not his real name. But the intimacy of what O'Neill had done for him was, perhaps, just as illusory. Suddenly, fiercely, Daniel did not want to leave it at that.

He emerged from their hiding place as bid, yet cautiously, closing the door behind him, to find a still-empty lounge, except for O'Neill, washing his hands. Daniel stepped to the far sink and did the same. He wiped his hands on a towel and settled his vest, and ran his hands over his lapels. He checked his reflection in the big mirror. He didn't appear too debauched, he thought, swiping a damp hand over his hair.

O'Neill left the water running at his basin and sidled closer. He met Daniel's eyes in the mirror, and he was smiling, that intense half-smile, crowned by those deep dark eyes that Daniel could all too easily fall into. He looked as dapper and neat as he had earlier. Daniel glanced down. O'Neill's knees were unscuffed. How did he _do_ that?

O'Neill said, to the mirror, "Before we go to your hotel-- Play another double duke with me. Half the proceeds to you."

Daniel smiled, slow and wicked, at O'Neill's reflection. The night wasn't over. O'Neill would be his again before it ended; he didn't have to let go of this yet. But what O'Neill was suggesting was even more risky than what they'd just done. "And why should I try such a thing, in this house?"

O'Neill's smile was equally wicked. "I promised you excitement, didn't I?" His smile faded as he turned away from the glass, looking at Daniel in the flesh, and he put his knuckles to Daniel's cheek, narrowing his own eyes, a fleeting emotion coloring them, and then he turned on his heel and was away through the outer door again. Quick as a thought.

Daniel turned off the running water at both basins and looked at his reflection. He considered. His game was billiards or pocket billiards; clean games, generally. Not that he'd been innocent of sand-bagging, or the occasional thrown game.... O'Neill had asked him to serve as his accomplice, to cheat for him, and Daniel, looking at his own still-flushed face, his too-bright eyes, knew that he would refuse this man nothing. It should have been a sobering thought. It was not.

O'Neill was nowhere to be seen when Daniel emerged from the men's lounge and crossed the nearly empty poker saloon. He stepped through the door to the main room, nodded at the doorman, and found all the tables now filled, the magic show in full swing.

Polite applause was sweeping up from the groups seated at the small white-clothed tables, tuxedo'd waiters circulating among them with trays of canapes and drinks, as the mistress of the house concluded one magical presentation and turned masterfully to the next. Daniel found a spot to lean his back against the rear wall, next to a waiter's station, and settled in to watch. He snagged a clean glass and found a pitcher of water, serving himself despite the yearning reproachful stare of one of the staff.

Miss Samantha Carter, dressed all in shimmering black sequins, feathers waving above the pile of platinum curls that crowned her head, was asking for volunteers from the audience, and waving them up in answer to their shouts.

Daniel knew her by reputation, had made her theater a destination when he'd left Denver, eager for new horizons, but he found himself unable to give the feats of prestidigitation his full attention. He was scanning the house for a brown head and pair of strong shoulders clad in black velvet.

He found them, in a seat at house right, about halfway to the stage. The proscenium erupted in a cloud of white pigeons, the audience gasped and applauded, but Daniel barely noticed.

Daniel watched O'Neill's shoulders and the back of his head through the entire performance, entirely distracted and unable to appreciate the skill and showmanship of their hostess. His eyes were fixed on one spot. And when the curtain came down, and the house quartet began to play a recessional, signaling the end of the magic and the resumption of the gaming, Daniel shook himself alert and went in search of coffee.

He knew where he'd find O'Neill. But he had to revive himself first.

In a quarter hour, fortified, he drifted again through the card saloon, searching for the now-familiar dark head. And found it, at an empty table near the back wall. O'Neill was playing solitaire. Daniel's eyes strayed to the men's room door, and he drew breath and sternly directed himself to settle down. He strode to the table and caught O'Neill's eye. O'Neill assigned Daniel his seat with one sharp glance, and Daniel pulled out the chair smoothly and sat. O'Neill nodded to him and continued his game. Now all they had to do was wait for three players to join them, out of the crowd drifting back in from the magic show.

Daniel let his gaze drift to O'Neill's fascinating, muscular hands, swift and deft as they scooped up the red and black patterned cards, moving and shifting and turning.

With a muffled grunt of disappointment, O'Neill gave up on his game and gathered in his deck, then dealt a different solitaire pattern, one resembling a pyramid. Daniel accepted a fresh cup of coffee from a waiter, and noticed that O'Neill took one as well. Then Daniel straightened in his chair as two men approached, pulled out chairs and seated themselves, one with a flourish of tails, one calmly and methodically. The second man was Major Davis.

"Gentlemen," O'Neill said, sweeping up his solitaire game in two quick scoops and beginning again to shuffle, the bridged cards ruffling expertly between his hands. "Find us a fifth and we can begin."

Davis, the side of his mouth curling, lifted a hand and waved. Daniel, seated across from him, didn't think it prudent to look around, but a fifth player emerged from the crowd and stood behind the remaining empty chair -- a bald man unknown to Daniel.

"Major," the newcomer said to Davis.

"Sir," O'Neill said, heartily, and then he said, "Straight poker, gentlemen," in a neutral, firm voice, and began the deal. The red-backed, curlicue-festooned cards made bright ragged piles on the dark green felt. Daniel waited for one of the men to demand a fresh deck, but no demand came. He kept his eyes on his own cards, his hands in his lap, and watched. Suspense thrummed along his spine. He was committed now, and he knew well what he had agreed to do: Run up the betting until O'Neill called the hand. No matter how good Daniel's cards were, O'Neill's would be better.

Again he confronted his own amazement that he was willing to do this, and he risked a glance at O'Neill, who sat one player over to Daniel's left.

The hands were all complete now. Daniel had just put his palm over his cards when a new and unexpected voice broke the quiet anticipation that had gathered over the table.

"I'll be exercising my prerogative as the hostess, Anthony, if you please," said a woman's voice -- amused and yet somehow steely, and Daniel's eyebrows went up, and there to his right was Miss Carter, still in her black sequins and feathers. She was every bit as tall and regal as she'd looked on stage. The man she'd addressed as Anthony was laughing, standing already and waving her into his seat.

"I should have known," he chuckled. "With John in the house, you'd manage to get in on his game sooner or later."

"Later is best sometimes," the proprietor said with a tilt of her head, "and for some things," she added, and Anthony patted her bare shoulder and stepped behind her and folded his arms, prepared to watch.

"Samantha," O'Neill said, pausing with the pack in his hand, and a curl of his lip, a wary look in his eye.

"Hello, Jack," she said, "it's been a while," and picked up her cards. She glanced at them, a split-second flicker, and then returned her regard to O'Neill.

"But wouldn't you like a fresh deal?" O'Neill said to her, his hands hovering over the deck, and even though Daniel barely knew the man, something about the set of his shoulders, the careful tilt of his neck, made alarm bells go off in the back of Daniel's head. O'Neill was still smiling at Miss Carter and his eyes were still warm, but there was an indefinable change in him, a sense that he was poised for, well, for anything. For fight, or flight.

"Oh, no; that won't be necessary." Miss Carter's tone was offhand, but Daniel could hear resolve behind it.

"You're the boss," O'Neill said mildly, making her smile brighten, and O'Neill put down the pack, swept up his cards, glanced at them, and put them back on the table with no further comment.

The ante's were distributed, the calls for new cards went round, and O'Neill took up the discards and made the deals, his glance neutral when he met the eyes of each player. He didn't linger when he looked at Daniel, and his face lit up with a fond smile when he looked at Miss Carter. But the odd stillness in his shoulders remained.

Daniel threw the two losers in his hand and received two cards that were just as worthless, and thus was left holding the three jacks he'd originally been dealt.

He glanced around the table. The men looked thoughtful, or blank, or studiously, affectedly distracted. Miss Carter watched O'Neill openly, smiling a secretive smile.

When the next round of bills was added to the pot, O'Neill shot one glance at Daniel; not urgent, not fearful, but pointed. And Daniel knew immediately what he was to do. He'd agreed to boost the pot for O'Neill's win and then fold at the opportune moment. Now he knew there'd been a change of plan. O'Neill would fold, even though he was holding a hand certain to beat three jacks. A hand O'Neill had given himself.

Now Daniel would win. Because Daniel was now sure that with Miss Carter at the table, O'Neill had no intention of playing out the double duke. That one glance had been his warning not to fold. Daniel knew this as well as if it had been painted in letters of fire on the wall behind O'Neill's head. As risky, perhaps, for O'Neill to dump an obvious winning hand as it would be to win big, with Miss Carter watching, but nevertheless, Daniel was certain O'Neill would fold.

Daniel looked down at his own hands as they rested, loosely linked, beside his cards, only intermittently allowing his gaze to trace calmly around the table, neither lingering on nor avoiding any of the four faces, as the game progressed. The male stranger remained blank. O'Neill looked peaceful; Miss Carter smug. Davis' lip was curled in a half smile as he kept his eyes on his cards.

The bets went round again. And O'Neill folded. Samantha Carter never took her eyes off O'Neill's hands.

Finally it was down to Davis and Daniel. "I'll see your twenty, sir, and call you," Davis said to him, meeting his eyes squarely, still with that amused look, and saying the words as if reciting assigned lines.

_He knows, too,_ Daniel thought. _Is he in on it, as O'Neill wanted me in? What will madame do?_

There was no going back now. The hand played out.

Daniel's three jacks beat Davis' pair of aces, Daniel collected a pile of money that equaled what he'd won at pool, and carefully straightened each crisp bill, preparing to fold it all away into his vest pocket.

The bald gentleman lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair. A waiter appeared with an ash tray. Other waiters refilled coffee mugs. The table was definitely getting more attention, now that the proprietor was seated there.

Daniel surreptitiously watched as O'Neill began to pull in the discarded hands of cards, and he had to stop himself from gasping when Miss Carter reached out, quick as a pouncing cat, and put a hand over O'Neill's hand. O'Neill froze, and met her eyes. Daniel held his breath.

Miss Carter, with an easy motion and a controlled flick of her wrist, slid her hand under O'Neill's wrist and flipped over O'Neill's cards, where they lay fanned beneath his forearm. Daniel was expecting to see the damning, winning hand that O'Neill would have triumphed with--a hand that would have topped three-of-a-kind--if their hostess hadn't joined the game. What Daniel saw, held gently between Miss Carter's strong short fingers, was three losers and a pair of sixes.

O'Neill cocked his head, frowning slightly as if puzzled, and gently took the fan of cards back from their hostess. He added it to the rest of the deck as she sat back in her chair, without hurry, no emotion showing on her face, her black feathers nodding gently, but her smile was thoughtful and distant.

O'Neill wasn't watching her. He squared up the cards, shuffled them once, and passed the deck to his left.

Davis took them, tapped them smartly twice on the felt, and said, "Five card draw once again, gentlemen, madam. Deuces wild."

And they were off.

Daniel felt the suspense ebbing from his limbs like water flowing downhill, leaving a limp sort of relief behind. His manner at poker was always businesslike and brisk, and tonight, he felt, detachedly, that his style rather made a nice contrast with O'Neill -- deceptively gentle, and Miss Carter -- economical yet unhurried. Davis, for his part, moved as if he were about to fall asleep; the fourth gentleman put down his cards and his bills with a distinct snap of the corners. Anthony still stood, silent, behind their hostess' chair.

And Miss Carter herself, for the rest of the game, continued the play while never taking her eyes from O'Neill's hands.

After three more games that featured nothing spectacular in the way of winning hands, with much bluffing and evenly distributed victories, Miss Carter stood up, leaving her bills on the table. A waiter swooped in to pick them up for her. The men stood when she did.

"Thank you for a most instructive evening," she said, and then, her blue eyes boring into O'Neill's, "It's good to see you so well, Jack," and she turned and stalked into the crowd.

Daniel caught the quick exhaled breath that puffed out O'Neill's lips for a brief moment. O'Neill put his hands in his pockets and stood still, watching their hostess' bare back recede into the sea of frock coats.

"I believe we're done here," Davis said, and he winked at Daniel and turned away. Daniel glanced down. The table was bare. The ashtrays and coffee cups were gone. He'd expected the money to be stashed away quickly, but even the last deck they'd used had already disappeared.

The bald gentleman who'd completed their five turned to O'Neill. "You should come back to Los Angeles more often, John. I know we've all missed you." And with a sly smile he clapped O'Neill on the shoulder, and then he, too, turned away.

That left Daniel and O'Neill, eyeing each other over the empty table.

Daniel nodded to him, fairly certain that he'd be understood, and went to gather his coat and his satchel from the attendant.

It was cool and breezy outdoors, and it was after two in the morning. The stars winked over the hills. Daniel's hotel was a short walk away, down the street and around a corner, along a stretch of brightly lit downtown businesses, still pleasing a few customers despite the hour. Night owls walked the sidewalks in search of a game, or a bed, or a meal. The trolleys weren't running this late, but a lone carriage was rounding the corner at the bottom of the hill. Daniel glanced up and down the avenue, and then strolled down the broad steps of the verandah of The Queen of Hearts, not hurrying, wondering where O'Neill would catch him up.

He took a deep breath of the night air. On this hill, the breeze was fresh, smelling of grass and the ocean and only a little of horse. It made a refreshing change from the warm smokiness of the casino.

So that was the legendary Miss Samantha Carter, famous magician, renowned card mechanic, glittering and regal, very much in her own element. Daniel felt he had been witness to a rather narrow escape.

"Well, that's the last time I'll be welcome in her house for a while. More's the pity," Daniel heard, and there was O'Neill at his elbow. Daniel glanced around. His companion must have emerged from the alley. Daniel hadn't heard his footsteps, just his amused murmur when he was already close. His hands were in his pants pockets, and the streetlights glimmered in the silver embroidery of his vest. O'Neill fell into step with Daniel. The man's presence was palpable, like the breeze. Like the smell of morning coffee. Daniel closed his eyes. He swore he could feel O'Neill's body heat.

Daniel said, "It was nicely done; the final handmuck, there."

"Always have a Plan B," O'Neill grimaced, and then Daniel heard him sigh, and he seemed to shake off the events just concluded. He swerved closer to bump Daniel's shoulder, never losing his step. "Which hotel?"

Daniel felt a thrill up the backs of his legs. Definitely his invitation had been accepted. The night, he felt, was just beginning. "The Tremont, around the corner there."

"An excellent choice."

"Yes; the mattresses are firm, the linen is spotless, and ... they serve a splendid breakfast. If I may be so bold."

"Bold becomes you, Lou," O'Neill said, tilting his head so he could look into Daniel's eyes as they walked. He captured Daniel's gaze, his eyes just as compelling as they had been in the pool saloon the first moment Daniel had noticed him, and Daniel's breath caught. He found himself looking down, and he shifted his coat over his arm. He was getting hard again just looking at the man.

Daniel said, "I find myself relieved that it's a very short walk." He glanced over at O'Neill's profile, and O'Neill was smiling. The wind stirred his hair. Daniel forced his breathing to slow. "By the way, it seems hardly fair that I know your real name when you don't know mine."

"Major Davis is talking out of school again, is he?" O'Neill did not seem upset in the slightest.

Daniel smiled. He had no idea what the relationships among Davis, this man, and Miss Carter were, or had been. Maybe he would get the chance to learn more, and maybe even tonight. He found himself hoping so.

"I got my start gaming in New Orleans, which explains my name. But I was born Daniel Jackson, in New York City."

"Ah," O'Neill said. "Well. I'm honored by the introduction, sir. And _I_ find myself wishing that the Tremont were on this corner instead of the next."

Daniel laughed aloud. O'Neill twinkled at him, and Daniel was compelled to tease. "Now, I've seen you exercise more patience than this, my new friend, even in our short acquaintance. Perhaps you need sustenance before retiring? Perhaps a late supper before we go to the hotel? The chef from Delmonico's has taken over this restaurant here," and he pointed with his satchel to a brightly lit entrance, "or there's a plain place, up the block a little, which serves excellent coffee. And pie."

O'Neill made a noise in his throat that Daniel could only describe as a growl. It made Daniel grin, made a tingle of warmth spread up his spine, made his dick stir in his pants. Definitely hard. O'Neill walked a little faster, and Daniel lengthened his stride to keep up. Their steps fell into a matched pace again.

Mercifully soon, the Tremont's lobby opened before them, darkened and almost empty. Daniel asked for his key while O'Neill waited, his hands in his pockets again. He paused so that Daniel could precede him up the stairs, he stood a step behind as Daniel unlocked the room, and closed the door behind him as Daniel put down his satchel and his coat and turned up the gas. Daniel turned, and O'Neill was still standing there, back to the door, hands at his sides, as if waiting to be invited in.

Daniel paced slowly to him, their gazes locked. Daniel was gratified to see that now that they were behind closed doors, away from public view, O'Neill had shed his mask of careless detachment. He returned Daniel's gaze intently, his lips slightly parted, the desire in his eyes unveiled.

Daniel licked his lips, remembering the feel of that mouth around his own flesh.

"About my turn," he murmured, and he pressed O'Neill's shoulder against the door with one hand and groped for the fly of his trousers with the other. O'Neill made that noise again, part growl, part yearning moan, and helped. He held the tails of his coat aside with one hand, gripping Daniel's shoulder for balance as he pushed out of his boots, and then he kicked free of the fabric Daniel hastily pulled down around his ankles.

Daniel, kneeling, admired O'Neill's legs, long and muscular and lightly furred, and now spreading for balance. He ran his hands up the calves, over the thighs, and felt O'Neill's hands come to rest on his shoulders. He pushed aside the tails of O'Neill's white shirt to admire the cock he was about to take into his mouth -- fully hard, bobbing a little, the red shaft springing from dark curling hair. Daniel's mouth watered.

When he licked his lips and pressed around it, letting it sink slowly in, enjoying the salty taste, savoring the swell of the head against his tongue, O'Neill moaned again, biting off the sound and squeezing Daniel's shoulder. He let go of Daniel with his other hand to fumble at his vest and shirt buttons.

Daniel opened his eyes again, and began to slowly bob along O'Neill's cock, sucking when he pulled off, softening his mouth as he pressed in, and ran one hand up the furry belly, exposed as O'Neill's shirt fell open, reaching up until he found a nipple, and then running his hand back down to curl around O'Neill's cock and cup his balls.

"Daniel," O'Neill gasped, breathing hard, and Daniel smiled.

He loved this act, rare and forbidden fruit though it was, both doing it and having it done to him. And something about the way he had begun tonight, the sudden dive through O'Neill's -- through Jack's -- clothing to find skin, the kneeling in front of him while fully clothed himself, down to his boots.... Something about that served to underline the reckless rebellious joy Daniel took in the doing.

Jack O'Neill, all poised skill and quick thinking, was coming apart under his hands, hands that were free, now, to strip and to touch, caress and rub and pet. A sudden, vivid memory of Jack's hands on the cards came to him, and Daniel squeezed his eyes shut and mouthed Jack's cock, taking him deep, holding him there as long as he could before easing off.

"Daniel," Jack said, rocking his hips toward him, and Daniel sealed his lips around Jack's shaft and pressed him deeper than ever, gripping his buttocks, and Jack groaned, and quivered, and climaxed, shooting liquid heat that Daniel gladly swallowed.

Daniel waited it out, patient and content despite his own arousal, feeling the sparking twitches run through the other man, listening to his gasps. He heard a faint knock as Jack's head fell back against the door. His cock was beginning to soften and shrink inside Daniel's mouth. Daniel became aware of how his bootheels were digging into his own buttocks, how his thigh muscles were protesting. He was still fully hard, and aching with the need for release. But half the fun was the waiting to give into that need. He smiled, and pulled away gently, slowly, sucking as he did, swallowing the last of the semen.

Jack's hand at his shoulder again, urging him to stand. Daniel got to his feet and planted his hands above Jack's shoulders, and leaned on them. Their faces were close, and both were still breathing hard. Jack looked stunned and disheveled. He bit his lip and brought his hands up, finding them a bit hard to control, apparently, and went to work on Daniel's shirt buttons.

Daniel rested his forehead against Jack's temple and closed his eyes. His mouth still felt full and swollen, stinging with the taste of Jack's climax, his throat coated with it. He allowed his lips to skim Jack's jaw, leaning in closer, and Jack inhaled sharply and his hands quieted on Daniel's shirtfront. He turned his head, just a little, and their lips brushed. Daniel moaned quietly, and kissed him. So that quick kiss in the men's lounge had not been a fleeting thing, done once only. It was splendid enough to find a man who shared his desire for what they'd just done. That Jack would turn out to be a man who kissed? Even rarer.

He seemed to sink into Jack's mouth, into its tender heat, and Jack's arms came around his middle and pulled Daniel's weight against him. The door creaked behind them and Daniel felt him smile.

They kissed eagerly, sloppily, as if they were seizing something that might be taken away. Daniel's eyes wanted to roll back when he felt the hesitant probe of Jack's tongue, and he opened to it, leaning on his elbows now, giving Jack his weight.

After a long time Jack groaned again and rolled his hips against Daniel's. They were both hard now, the kissing having renewed their desire. Daniel pulled his mouth away and stepped back, finishing the unfastening of his shirt and vest that Jack had started. He turned to the bureau and undressed completely, laying his clothes over an open drawer, not bothering to empty his pockets. As he turned, Jack's hands slid across his shoulders, and he found Jack had undressed completely as well, and that he was smiling again, his lips red and stung looking. He was so handsome, it took Daniel's breath.

"Daniel," was all he said, as if savoring the name, and Daniel pulled him to the bed.

The linens were indeed spotless, soft and smooth and well washed, their touch cool. Jack's skin was like hot silk, though, when he came into Daniel's arms. Wordlessly in harmony again, they slowed down their new rush toward climax to touch, to explore, to run careful hands over chest and shoulder and belly and thigh. And to kiss.

"I've heard of you, off and on, for years," Jack murmured, between kisses, "but why haven't I crossed your path until now?"

"You've just been unlucky, I suppose," Daniel said, lingering at kissing the corner of his mouth, placing more kisses down his jaw. Jack's hands caressed Daniel's ribs, his hip.

"My luck has changed," Jack murmured, and took Daniel's mouth again, rolling half atop him and pressing his erection into Daniel's thigh.

Daniel pushed against him and returned the kiss eagerly. His skin was hot all over, his need to thrust and to come growing too strong to resist. He met Jack's rhythm, then set his elbow and hooked an ankle around Jack's and turned them, wondering for a swift moment if Jack would allow it. But he did, going over to his back willingly, and Daniel pressed his face into Jack's neck, panting, and pushed their cocks together. He raised his head and kissed Jack again, and Jack pushed his tongue into Daniel's mouth. Seized by an idea, Daniel raised his head and grinned into those deep eyes. Carefully, avoiding digging into a soft spot with a knee or an elbow, he crawled over Jack, bringing his mouth to Jack's groin again, spreading his knees carefully around Jack's head where it lay on the generous thick pillows.

"Oh, god," Jack choked, and then his expert mouth engulfed Daniel's dick again, and his hands -- his magician's hands -- caressed and explored. Daniel groaned and took Jack's cock into his mouth, embracing the overwhelming twinning of sensation.

Jack's hips snapped toward him, a barely restrained rhythm, and Daniel leaned on his elbows and gripped Jack's thighs and gave himself over to sucking and licking until it all became a red blur -- the feel of Jack's mouth, unbearable pleasure, Jack's shaft in his, thick and so satisfying, and he was groaning and shaking and coming, and as Jack's semen exploded into his mouth he barely kept enough self possession to swallow.

When it was over, he fell to the side, groaning again, flailing out with one hand to stay in touch with all that warm skin. Jack tangled an arm through Daniel's legs. The only sound for a long while was the sound of their panting.

"Definitely my luck has changed.... Daniel Jackson, you make me feel like the luckiest son of a bitch in California."

Daniel, eyes closed, had to smile again as he felt the smooth caress along his buttock and side. He arched into it invitingly, and pulled Jack's knee in to make a pillow for his cheek.

"From what I can see, your luck was actually in fine shape before I ever arrived on the scene. And by the way -- I hope you made as much from my billiards tournament as I made in it because of you."

Daniel felt Jack's chuckle all along his limbs. He had to see his face again, look into those eyes again. Feeling lethargic with pleasure and the late hour, he nevertheless dragged himself around the bed until he was face to face with Jack on the pillows.

Jack traced a finger along his jaw and down his collarbone, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "I'd have to say, after the events of the night so far, that we're more than even."

Daniel pulled him close, nuzzled his way under Jack's jaw. He wanted to get up and dim the light, but it seemed too far to go. He breathed, calming himself deliberately, taking in the scent of the man, the sweetness of the fine linen, the traces of smoke and sex. It had been a long time since he'd felt this happy. He tightened his arms.

Jack stroked his back, an absent-minded caress. "There's not one man in a hundred that could have spotted that cold deck, you know."

"As you say. We're even. A--" and Daniel had to laugh at himself "--A natural pair!"

Jack laughed too, and when it died away, he pulled back, put a knuckle under Daniel's chin and looked into his eyes.

"I've never been so glad in my life to have been caught cheating," he said gruffly, and Daniel, barely able to believe the message in those brown eyes, closed his own and kissed him again. This time the kisses were tender, a kind of punctuation. An afterward instead of a prelude.

Daniel sighed and settled his head back on the pillow. "Miss Carter expected to catch you out, I gather."

Jack sighed, too, but not in contentment. "I should know better than to cheat at The Queen of Hearts. But I'm just back in town after a trip to Mexico, and ... well. I was reckless. I'll live to regret it, I'm sure."

"You know each other."

Jack chuckled again. "That, my friend, is an understatement. Everything I know about cards and magic, I learned from Sam."

"And yet..."

"And yet."

There was a finality in Jack's voice, and Daniel leaned up to check his face. Jack looked rueful, a little regretful, and then he met Daniel's eyes again and seemed distracted with it immediately, tracing Daniel's features with his gaze, reaching up to touch his cheek, and then to run his fingers through Daniel's hair.

"Well," Daniel said, feeling very daring, and Jack met his gaze again. "I only came to town for the billiards tournament. I was planning all along to leave for San Francisco in a day or so. You could...." His courage failed him, until he realized that the "yes" was already there in Jack's eyes. "You could come along with me."

"San Francisco's full of overly confident card-players," Jack observed, slowly, as if weighing the idea, his eyes twinkling.

"And billiards players."

"And very sympathetic policeman."

"And has a surfeit of loosely run gambling-houses."

"And it seems to me that we've barely begun to see what we can do for each other ... here," Jack said, and his hand underlined his words with a glide down Daniel's bare side. "In bed."

"Mark my words, Jack: A natural pair," Daniel said, and Jack leaned up, smiling, to kiss him again.

end.


	2. Looking for a Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The further adventures of John and "Lou." The rest of the song serves as epigraphs to each scene. I had an absolute blast writing this! Please do get the song and listen to it.

"Ragtime is dead," Jack proclaimed around his toothpick, leaning over Daniel where he sat at the piano.

"Ragtime is not dead," Daniel contradicted, souping up the left-hand line he'd been tinkering with, adding full, elaborate arpeggios of exactly the type Jack was dismissing.

"It's over," Jack insisted, letting his hand rest briefly on the striped shoulder of Daniel's crisp shirt, then letting it run down his arm as far as the garter before pulling away. "It's all going to be Dixieland now, you watch."

"Ragtime will never die," Daniel said, out loud, but to himself. Still in the ragtime style, he followed his newly improvised melody to its logical conclusion, noticing with a smile that Jack was tapping his toe as he leaned his ass against the upright. As Daniel played, Jack watched the room, just out of touching distance, chewing reflectively on the toothpick.

It was early, so there weren't many people yet. They'd just eaten dinner, themselves, in the kitchen, with Janet and the help, and now they were killing time, waiting for the gambling rooms to fill, waiting to see what the prospects were. Friday night in February in Westport wasn't the best or biggest place -- they worked better at carnivals or somewhere like St. Louis or Atlantic City, where there were more strangers, more movement, more ways to disappear. But Janet's place, as much as they could say of any place, now, was home. A good place to spend the winter.

Listening to the quiet masculine voices behind him at the green-covered tables, smelling the cigar smoke, Daniel decided to give in to Jack's prediction. He rambled along through a series of chord changes. Then he eased into a very up, very Dixieland version of "Arkansas Blues". He heard Jack sigh.

 

_Now, Three Card Monte is a gambling game  
Two black aces and a pretty red queen  
Keep your eye on the lady and lay your money down  
What's the fastest hand you've ever seen?... _

 

Hands behind his head, naked under the pile of blankets, Daniel watched Jack, who was sitting at the foot of their bed. Jack was practicing three of the sleights-of-hand that had earned him his nickname.

Switch the queen. Shuffle, lay out the cards. Hide the queen, shuffle, lay out the cards. Hide the queen one-handed, shuffle, lay out the cards.

Jack ran through the plays, over and over, looking intently at his own fingers part of time, but also looking at Daniel, or at the fogged-over window with its rime of frost. It was a bedtime ritual. Daniel was no hand with dealing three-card monte, but he knew the scam inside and out, and he knew Jack, and he knew this ritual. He knew what came next. Jack would switch to shuffling. Yes, there -- two quick bridges, the cards curving and whispering against his thigh, then one-handed cutting, the triangles of cards appearing and disappearing on Jack's palm almost faster than Daniel's eyes could track. The bright blue scrollwork of the backs of the cards, then red and black pips, changing places, a blur of motion and skill.

Daniel watched, content.

Tonight, of course, and all the nights that Jack, restless, roamed the aisles at Janet's, he'd not played the scam. At Janet's, usually, he was just muscle; just the bouncer, with Daniel, undercover as the cheerful piano player, serving as his backup, should he need it.

But sometimes Jack got tired of watching for trouble that rarely came, here on the right side of the river in old Westport, and so, sometimes, he sized up a group of rich out-of-towners and pulled out a chair and sat down with them. He always won, of course, but at Janet's, he never cheated and he never played long enough for the ordinary trade to catch on or get angry. Draw poker, or blackjack -- those were the tables he'd deal himself into here, in the long, boring winters, always with a friendly smile and an unassuming air. He'd win, and then he'd go back to guard duty for a few days, long enough for the population of travelers to turn over entirely.

He only ran his trademark game in places they visited, not places they intended to stay. And never at Janet's. But he never stopped practicing.

Jack cut the deck a final time with an emphatic snap. He stood up, slipping the cards into the pocket of his black slacks, and then removed the slacks and his underwear, sliding them down, folding the fabric carelessly around his belt. He was already barefoot. Then he turned to the bed and stripped off his undershirt. Daniel slid over as Jack approached. Jack paused to turn down the lamp. The springs creaked as Jack slid under the covers, and Daniel turned to spoon against his back. He pressed his lips into Jack's hair. It smelled of smoke, and of soap. Daniel nuzzled in until he could feel the skin of Jack's nape under his lips. Jack wrapped his arm around Daniel's arm, and pressed back, snuggling his ass against Daniel's groin. Daniel's dick expressed its appreciation by twitching, and starting to get hard. Daniel kept kissing.

Jack observed, "You heard those marks, at table six."

"What marks are you talking about, sweetie?" Daniel answered, pretending innocence. It was another old ritual.

"Oh, nothing. Just some gossip about the road. You know, the usual."

"The usual," Daniel echoed, pressing his hips forward. The familiar soft warmth of Jack's skin was having its equally familiar, and comforting, effect on him, now, as always. Jack chuckled, and pushed back. Daniel hardened more quickly at the encouragement.

"Why, exactly what we're talking about now," Jack said. "What you're intending to do with your ... cue stick."

"We're not talking now."

"Oh, forgive me. Of course we're not."

Daniel extricated his arm from under Jack's and slid it down, over the firm jut of Jack's hip bone, finding his half-hard cock where it was resting against his thigh. It was hot, hidden there under the blankets, like a delightful secret.

He rocked along for a little, kissing and licking Jack's nape, gently fisting his cock, enjoying parting his cheeks and rubbing against him. Nothing urgent, nothing rushed. Quiet and slow, like the wintry river outside their window.

Jack moaned a little in appreciation. Changing his rhythm, Daniel began to lick a little more than he kissed, and then paused in his stroking to raise his hand to his mouth and wet the palm.

"Oh, yeah," Jack encouraged, when Daniel's hand slid under the blankets and closed around his dick once more. Jack moved his hand back, to Daniel's buttock, getting them closer still as the slow rocking of Daniel's hips continued. Daniel squeezed his eyes shut, glorying in pressing against Jack's ass, and in the delicate slide of skin over flesh in his hand. Jack was wet, and fully and wonderfully hard now.

When Jack patted Daniel's ass, a signal, Daniel stilled, opening his eyes. Jack flung the blankets aside and got out of bed, quickly crossing the room to the bureau and coming back with a tin. Daniel rolled to his back and waited, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. Jack, naked: Simply gorgeous, his dark intent gaze, his brown hair a messy tangle around his neck, just brushing the wide shoulders, his untidy bangs hanging almost in his eyes, and his eager dick leading the way. Jack got a knee on the bed, never taking his eyes from Daniel's face, and cracked the lid of the tin. He pulled his other knee up, kneeling with his legs spread, and Daniel said, "Mmm," and reached for him. That earned him a grin, but Jack evaded his grasp, instead stroking the thick greasy stuff from the tin onto himself. Then with his other hand, he switched his grip, quick as a flash, to push Daniel's wrist up and away.

Daniel raised his eyebrow. Not what he'd assumed would happen, after their foreplay. But loving Jack's surprises was one of the best parts of his life.

Jack swept the tin and its lid onto the floor, heedless of the clatter, and at the same time, moved Daniel's arm up, leaning on their joined hands, climbing over him. He nudged under Daniel's thigh with his knee. Daniel gave Jack his right hand, too, since Jack already had command of his left, and Daniel was breathing faster as he saw what Jack had in mind. Moving with him, no discussion needed, Daniel lifted his legs, cocking his hips, as Jack gathered Daniel's wrists into one hand and leaned in, steadying his cock with the other. Daniel closed his eyes, turning his head to one side in an unconscious gesture of submission, of acquiescence, and that made Jack groan when he raised his eyes from his dick to the long curve of Daniel's neck.

Daniel exhaled, feeling Jack pressing gently, well seated, and then he felt Jack's hand at his calf, helping him raise his leg to Jack's shoulder.

So easy, so good, to get this, to receive it.

Jack let go of his wrists, so that he could hold both Daniel's legs, and brace against them as he started to stroke in earnest, and Daniel was opening for him, pushing back. Daniel didn't bring his hands down from where they lay, crooked above his head. Instead, he fumbled for the rails of the brass headboard, elbows bent, holding on, feeling Jack fill him. His chin came up, and he moaned.

Jack waited, leaning in, at that delicious spot fully inside, buried in Daniel's heat. Then he pulled back, slowly, slowly, and then pushed in again. Daniel moaned and writhed around him, hips jerking at the deep exquisite slide of it.

Gradually, Jack sped up his strokes, and so they rocked like that for a long time, until the delicious burning stretch in Daniel's thighs melted into the delicious overwhelming rush of his climax. Jack took a little longer to finish, lifting Daniel's relaxed torso on to his knees, pushing harder, calling his name as his own climax washed over him.

Daniel, sated, slipped into sleep with Jack sprawled across his chest.

 

_Texas Hustlin' Billy, Lord, he's on the road again  
He was seen in New Orleans the other day  
Now Lou is known as quite the man with a pool cue in his hand  
It won't be long till him and John are headed down that way..._

 

Janet found them in the kitchen in the morning, much earlier than they usually appeared, teasing Cookie and drinking coffee, and eating biscuits with honey and butter, fresh from the oven -- so hot their mouths and fingers were burned.

She wrapped her arms in her apron and nudged Jack with her elbow.

"I guess you'll be going today then?" She glanced at Daniel, but she talked to Jack.

Jack raised his eyebrows, playing dumb. She rolled her eyes, not buying it. "To New Orleans, silly. I know Lou can't resist this. Never could."

Daniel was eating the last of his biscuit, licking the honey from his fingers. Janet Fraiser could have called him "Daniel"; she was one of the few in the Midwest who could, but he guessed she was using his nickname out of deference to Cookie.

"You know me too well, Miss Janet," Daniel said. His glance slid away from hers.

"We would have been off to St. Louis at the next break in the weather anyway," Jack said, apologetic.

"I know," Janet said. " I know. It's all right. You're ahead with the house, and all. Even with the food you two put away. It's just..." she wrapped her arms a little tighter in the apron. "I get used to the two of you being around, you know? It feels safer this way."

Daniel, impetuous with his affection, stepped to her and hugged her, his eyes closed, resting his cheek on the soft twist of her dark hair. "We'll be back, with the first snow in the fall. You know we will."

"Yeah," Janet sighed, her arms coming around Daniel. "You will."

Daniel let go of her, and she turned to Jack and hugged him, too. She was wiping her eyes as she left the steamy kitchen without another word.

Daniel sighed, and met Jack's eyes. He patted Cookie on the shoulder. Then he turned to the long table, where their coats were ready, on the bench, and he picked up the small rectangular satchel that had lain under their bed all these months, with Jack's revolver to keep it company at night. He slung his overcoat on his arm.

They walked together, out into the snow flurries.

"Train, or riverboat," Jack asked him, matching his step as they crunched along the sidewalk.

"Train's faster, but boat would be more fun."

"Boat it is, then," Jack said.

~~~~

"You keep this up, you're going to have to get another money belt," Daniel said, watching Jack undress in their first-class berth on the _Star of the Mississippi._

"There are worse fates," Jack said, contentedly. With no one to worry about offending, he'd won enough to keep them in steak and cigars until the Fourth of July.

"Do you want to stop at Natchez? Put some of that in the bank?"

"No," Jack said. "We can keep it in chips until New Orleans. Bank it then. Or," he said, walking the two steps to the bed and kissing Daniel's smiling mouth, "we can buy something. Real estate is never a bad investment."

"A pleasant problem," Daniel said, kissing him back.

~~~~

They did stop in Natchez, but only because Jack was restless. Daniel knew the signs. Without asking, he holstered the big revolver in the small of his back, and put on his oldest shirt and his second best coat.

He locked the stateroom, and caught Jack's eye before turning for the ladder to the deck.

It was warmer here than it had been upriver -- wet but not slushy, and there was a crowd in front of the courthouse. Maybe a trial was in recess. Jack had hung back to buy some roasted nuts from a vendor at the docks, and Daniel walked on, breathing the chilly damp air and looking around. Yes. This would do nicely.

On Daniel's second circuit of the courthouse square, he saw that Jack had pulled out a deck and set up on a packing crate on the sidewalk in front of a bar. Daniel strolled up. He projected a happy innocence. He was ready, willing and able to win today.

"Keep your eye on the lady," Jack said, his gaze roaming the faces of the people standing by. "Double or nothing; who'll give it a try?"

"I will," Daniel said. And, oh, had he been right about the extra money belt.

~~~~

A hundred for a corner table at nine o'clock on a Friday night at Felice's. After the second-best meal to be had in the Quarter, another hundred to get them through the door into the private rooms in the back.

Jack could have dropped some names, but he preferred not to, not tonight. It would be more fun, Daniel knew he was thinking, to preserve the element of surprise.

There was a crowd in the second parlor, watching the game. A silent, attentive, well dressed crowd, people of all sizes, shapes, genders and colors -- just one of the many things that made New Orleans so pleasantly unique among all the American cities he'd visited, Daniel thought. There were a few hushed, awed whispers, and the gentle click of ball against ball, the quiet thud of ball into leather pocket.

Daniel followed Jack as he eased and edged along the wall, finding them a spot to lean their backs against the painted wainscoting, and watch. Daniel had folded his arms around his satchel and rested it on one hip, like a baby, but he felt Jack gently taking it from him. He smiled, never taking his eyes from the white-shirted back of the player now just a few yards away. He let Jack take charge of his cue, and folded empty arms around his own ribs. He found he was more nervous than he expected, and he shifted his feet and rubbed his damp palms on his dress gloves, then stuffed them into the pocket of his black coat. He unbuttoned both buttons and folded his arms again.

It had been a long time. The man he was watching, known to the crowd as the Texas Hustler, made his shot, a smooth, short thrust of his cue, and slowly stood up, squaring his broad shoulders, to watch the complicated dance of the brilliantly colored balls. Two fell, in quick succession, and then the white cue ball bounced slowly, to come to a stop near the middle of the green table. Daniel counted, then quickly recounted, as the crowd seemed to inhale one breath. As the applause burst out, the Hustler placed his cue carefully against the cushions and approached his opponent, his hand outstretched to shake, gracious in victory. But the loser, tightly clutching his stick, upright, in front of him, like a spear, turned his back and abruptly left. A couple of onlookers followed him out.

The Hustler turned his rejected palm up, then brought the other out to join it, as if to say, "What can you do?", and then bowed slightly, from the waist, to the empty air in front of him, somehow accepting the applause of the room even as he seemed oblivious to it. Then he turned, toward the spot from which Jack and Daniel were watching, and pulled out a white silk handkerchief and mopped his bald head. A woman dressed in blue sequins handed him his coat, and he shrugged into it. She came close to him and adjusted his cravat. Daniel exhaled, stood straighter, and stepped forward.

"Another game, Texas Billy?" he said, sensing Jack moving with him, hovering there at his elbow.

The player's eyebrows went up, and then he stepped away from the woman's attentive hands, a grin splitting his face, and wrapped Daniel in a huge hug.

"Louisiana," he rumbled, and without letting go of Daniel, he extended his hand, over Daniel's shoulder, to Jack. "And my old friend John."

"Mr. William T. Murray," Jack said, shaking hard. "It's been a long time."

"Indeed it has," Murray, said, letting go of Jack to squeeze Daniel again with both arms. Daniel, for his part, was pounding his back, open-palmed, in delight. They stepped apart, holding each other's shoulders, looking into each others' eyes.

"We missed you last year," Daniel said, with a final squeeze, and he stepped away, and accepted his satchel from Jack.

"It wasn't the same without you," Jack added. "No idea why you missed out on the festivities here. I find it hard to believe that Galveston could compete with New Orleans at Mardi Gras."

"Sometimes a man's place is at home, my friend," Murray said, frowning slightly, and so Jack patted him on the shoulder and left it at that. They both looked at Daniel, who had opened his case and was carefully assembling his cue. Jack and Murray's eyes met, and they both smiled.

"Champagne for the house," Murray said, raising his voice. "This is a rematch for which I have been yearning for well over a year."

Daniel, his eyes shining, handed his coat to Jack and nudged his empty case under the table with a booted toe.

"Best of seven?" he offered.

"Excellent," Murray said. "The usual stakes?"

"Of course," Daniel said, accepting a flute of champagne from a tuxedoed waiter. He glanced to see Jack had a glass, too, and a new hush fell over the house as they drank.

"To old times," Murray said, tasting the wine, and handing it back to the waiter.

"To old times," Daniel agreed, "and, to luck."

 

_It was Friday night, and the time was right  
Texas Billy finally made his play  
The game went on into the night and just about dawn  
They were counting Billy's money, and heading for L.A...._

 

They slept the day away on the train, and when night was falling again, they woke, and searched lazily in their packages and baskets for something to eat, picnicking on the cushions and watching the old Republic's level plains fall away on either side, as the stars came out in the cloudless, big sky.

"Do you ever miss the Gulf?" Jack asked, idly, sectioning an orange and offering a slice to Daniel. He turned and took it between his lips, chewing thoughtfully, before answering.

"Yes, sometimes. It's different from the California ocean, you know. Friendlier, somehow, not as wild."

They watched the plains slide by the windows for a while. Jack finished the orange. Daniel leaned his chin on his fists. Then he slid over and rested his head in Jack's lap, reaching up to play with his shirt buttons.

"Thank you," Daniel said.

"For what?" Jack said. He knew, but seemed to enjoy prompting Daniel to say it.

"For letting me play. For going to the Quarter this year, for auld lang syne."

"Feh. That's easy," Jack said. "No one can give him the game you can, after all these years. How can I say no to that?"

"Some men wouldn't want to be in that position. Some men wouldn't want to meet ... the past ... face to face."

Jack leaned over and kissed him, upside down, showing off his flexibility. "Some men don't know how to live in the moment and be grateful for what they have." Daniel grinned up at him. "Besides, how is that different from us going back to Los Angeles now, back to Sam's?"

"It's not," Daniel agreed, sitting up and turning so that he could start to unbutton Jack's shirt.

"So..." Jack said, sitting up straighter and letting him.

"So it's just nice to hear you say it, that stuff you say about living in the present, about being grateful for what you have."

"Ah," Jack said.

"It'll be good to see her again. You can buy her lots of sparkly things with your riverboat money, and she can show off her new place and her new tricks and all her new boxes and toys and saws."

"She can buy her own sparkly things nowadays. She doesn't need me, or anybody else, for that." Jack sounded fond. Daniel ran a thumb over the nipple he'd just exposed, making Jack growl a little in response. Daniel smiled.

"The book* doing well, then?" Daniel tugged the shirt tails out of Jack's waistband, and started on the fastenings of his trousers.

"Better than she ever expected. She's the queen of cards and magic now."

"Does that make you the king?" Daniel slid his hands around Jack's waist, and leaned forward, taking Jack with him, easing them down, side by side. He smiled as Jack squirmed and settled, putting one hand behind Daniel's neck, and reaching for his fly buttons with the other.

"I guess it does, now that you mention it. She did teach me everything I know."

"Not quite everything," Daniel said, and kissed him.

 

_Louisiana Lou, Three Card Monte John  
Oh Lord, what a natural pair  
Looking for a game, fortune and fame  
Waiting just a little farther down the road somewhere. _

 

*From Wikipedia:   
""The Expert at the Card Table: The Classic Treatise on Card Manipulation" is a book on cards and magic written in 1901 by S. W. Erdnase, a pseudonymous author whose identity has been a long-discussed mystery for over a century. The book is considered to be one of the most influential works on magic or conjuring with cards and card sharps."


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